Weekly Email 21 Mar 2010
March 21, 2010
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| “No gain without pain” by Fr Alan Gyle, Vicar  At precisely five feet tall and with long, bright pink dyed hair (think super-charged, diminutive Zandra Rhodes), Francesca makes an impact. Francesca is a personal trainer… No, (I’ve waited forty four years to say this) Francesca is my personal trainer (a personal trainer is surely the ultimate Belgravia accessory!). In fact she is my Lenten treat to myself: what I have ‘taken on’ in an attempt, before it is all too late, to instil some physical rigour in an all-too-sedentary life, and some fitness and muscle tone to an all-too-corpulent body (did you really believe that clergy wear black for some other reason than that it is a sliming colour?). The legacy of my first sessions (“c’mon, just give me another ten of those, Alan…”) - aches in places I didn’t know I could ache, a stiffness that makes genuflection a real challenge – but also, as the pain recedes, the beginnings of a sense that there might be hope and that change might be possible. “No gain without pain,” as they say! Be warned, dear readers, stay out of Hyde Park on Friday mornings: it is not, as yet, a pretty sight.
“No gain without pain” might almost be shorthand for the theology of Passiontide – a season that begins this Sunday (Lent 5) and extends through Palm Sunday and Holy Week to the dawn of Easter Day. The term ‘Passiontide’ is derived from the Greek verb pasch? – to suffer (the Western Church derived the term from the Latin Vulgate ‘passio’) – andPassiontide is therefore that season in which, annually, the people of God connect again with the events of the last days of our Lord as he enters Jerusalem and prepares for the struggle, persecution and, finally, the death that occurs on a Green Hill outside the city wall on Good Friday. This re-engagement with a story of pain, cruelty and suffering is not some morbid exercise or bleak, masochistic endeavour: there is no virtue in telling a sad story for its own sake, still less in self-absorbed Christian gloominess. Passiontide is about something rather more than these. As the Passion Gospels tell again the story, the preaching and reflections, prayers and meditations make a connection between this story of suffering and our story – and assure us not only that God is not remote from what we experience (but, in Christ, has been everywhere we are expected to go, even to death), but also that in and through struggle and suffering there is a hope of new life that is God’s promise and most astonishing gift. Gain through pain – and the promise of life transformed by God in a way so much more wonderful than anything we can achieve ourselves… even with the encouragement of the wondrous Francesca!
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LINKS & INFORMATION
Moissac Retreat: June 2010 The Lent Appeal 2010 Our Parish Website Music & Preachers Our Sister Parish in Washington DC THE WEEK AHEAD
This Sunday: At 09:00: Family Mass Celebrant & Preacher Fr Richard Coles, with Godly Play for children At 11:00: Solemn Mass The Choir of St Paul’s, directed by Stephen Farr Preacher: Fr Richard Coles At 18:00: Evening Prayer (said) Wednesday at 18:45: The Wednesday Evening Service at the Grosvenor Chapel, 20:00-21:00
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Weekly Sheet 28th February 2010 Lent II
February 27, 2010
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| ‘A Matter of Death and Life’ by Fr Alan Gyle, Vicar
The saddest point in our week at St Paul’s was the funeral on Thursday of the outrageously influential fashion designer Alexander McQueen. But that Johnny Depp was staying next door at The Berkeley, and that as a result Wilton Place was swarming with paparazzi hoping to photograph him, we might have succeeded in holding the simple private funeral for close family and friends everyone wanted; as it was there was lots of photography and media coverage – tho’ much of it sensitive. Good to see the paparazzi lower their cameras and stand quietly when the family arrived just before noon - vestiges of decency and respect, even in our frenzied media age, and recognition that his death was not just a story but a tragedy.
A suicide at any age is a tragedy, but the death of someone so greatly respected and prodigiously talented at only forty is a deep shock and raises again for us deep questions about the meaning and value of life, and about how it can be that individuals find themselves so at odds with the idea of life as a ‘gift’ that continuing in it becomes untenable for them and they choose to return that gift to God, as it were ‘unopened’. A funeral in church after a suicide?, some have asked… well, yes, of course. The traditional view of the Church that those who took their own lives were expressing rejection of God has given way to a more informed and pastoral view that those who take their lives are often expressing dissatisfaction with the life they are experiencing, and are – in some way or another – uttering a cry for help. We pray for all his departed children, and commend them to his love and mercy.
No moral condemnation, then – but what moral stance are we to take in the midst of widespread current public debate about suicide and assisted dying, death and life? All around us societal views are in flux. What are we to think, as Christians, about ‘choosing’ death?
Perhaps one key insight is that such issues can never be reduced merely to calculus about death and the mechanics of the ending of life – but, stepping back, must always be addressed as issues about life itself in all its fullness: life not as something that is ours merely to use as we see fit, but rather life as a gift from God to be seized and used gloriously, outrageously, wonderfully and creatively, and always respected as infinitely precious. Darkness and struggle has its place in the midst of all of that, of course: that is what made Lee McQueen so brilliant. The challenge we face is that in the West we have, quietly, become utilitarian and consumerist in our thinking… and in such a thought-world there is little place for respect and wonder, even respect for life itself. In the wider debate humanity is reduced to commodity: value questionable? – then throw it away…
But respect and wonder still lurk – as at noon on Thursday when something – for a moment – halted the clicking of cameras and everybody paused in the face of mystery. We need in our society to give more space to those deep, instinctive, God-given feelings.
Fr Alan Gyle, Vicar.
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 REMEMBER, YOU CAN SUPPPORT OUR LENT APPEAL BY EATING AT THE SPAGHETTI HOUSE (www.spaghettihouse.co.uk) AND PRESENTING THIS VOUCHER (http://bit.ly/ccbeY0) - read more about this at http://bit.ly/LentSpaghetti THIS WEEKEND Sunday 28th February 2010: Lent II At 09:00: Family Mass Celebrant & Preacher Fr Richard Coles At 11:00: Solemn Mass Messe Basse - Faure, ’Long since in Egypt’s plenteous land’ - Parry; Ave verum corpus - Faure; Preacher: Fr Richard Coles At 18:00: Evening Prayer (said) THE WEEK AHEAD , then The Lent Course at the Grosvenor Chapel 19:45-21:00
NEXT SUNDAY AT ST PAUL’S The clergy are available daily at service times and by appointment for conversation and counsel; please ring the Parish Office on 020 7201 9999. |
Weekly Sheet 21st February 2010 Lent I
February 21, 2010
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| Please be seated… by Fr Richard Coles, Senior Curate  To Dorset on my day off, a six hour drive thanks to the failure of Tom Tom, the idiocy of the navigator (me), and the closure of the A303; but it was a journey well worth making. I had gone to meet David Saltmarsh, who has a smallholding near Lyme Regis, twenty five acres of organic veg, organic sheep, organic cows and organic hens, which he farms with his wife and children and the help of neighbours who have organised themselves into a kind of loosely aligned co-operative. When we arrived everyone had turned out to try to persuade a sick cow to stand on her own four legs, which she seemed disinclined to do. It is not an easy living, but David supplements his income from farming by making chairs - greenwood chairs, fashioned from newly cut oak and ash and beech grown on his own woodland, turned on a pole lathe, assembled without screws or nails or glue, a tradition that goes back further than anyone can remember. My grandfather, from just over the border in Devon, sat on a chair which his father and grandfather had sat on, a Windsor chair with a wheel carved in the slat that eventually went to my cousin and is now sat on by the seventh generation to be thus accommodated. It is Lent, and I must confess I coveted that chair (I got a fold-over mahogany card table instead) and have always wanted one like it, but thought the skills that went into making such a wonderful piece of furniture were extinct. And then I heard about David Saltmarsh, looked at his website, and found the chair which I hope will last at least the next seven generations. It is made from a single piece of oak, with pole-turned legs and stretchers, an ash seat, close-grained and carved for comfort, with a wheel cut into the central slat, and stands in my sitting room looking immensely inviting. An indulgence, surely, to buy myself such a present (and not a cheap present) as we enter Lent? Well, yes, but I don’t begrudge myself the odd indulgence, and I find as I get older I want fewer things, but better things, made by craftsmen and women, made to last, made with care. It woud be a bit of a stretch to describe sitting in it as a Lenten discipline (mind you, no upholstery), but it is a reminder of durable value and sound economy in our fickle-fashioned, throw-away culture. Check out David’s website: www.fivepennychairs.co.uk
Fr Richard Coles, Curate.
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THIS WEEKEND
Sunday 21st February 2010: Lent I At 09:00: Family Mass Celebrant & Preacher Fr Alan Gyle. At 11:00: Solemn Mass Darke in F, ‘Ich aber ben elend’ Op.110 - Brahms; Ave verum corpus - Elgar; Organ voluntary: Prelude & Fugue in A minor - Brahms Preacher: Fr Alan Gyle At 18:00: Evening Prayer (said) THE WEEK AHEAD NEXT SUNDAY AT ST PAUL’S The clergy are available daily at service times and by appointment for conversation and counsel; please ring the Parish Office on 020 7201 9999. |
Weekly Reflection 29th November - 5th December 2009
November 29, 2009
One of the inestimable pleasures of living in London is the opportunity to do things that are only possible in a city of its size. If you want to yodel, or play ice hockey, or dance the tango (or do all three together), there are enough people wanting to do the same to turn the idlest of wishes into reality. So I attended for the first time on Sunday a group I found on Facebook, Dachshunds in London, which met at two at the bandstand in St James’ Park. It had been raining cats and dogs, appropriately, so even though the sun came out after lunch, I thought we would be few, and when I arrived, with Daisy tugging on her lead, the only one to meet us was a Russian dog photographer who looked a little crestfallen at having come such a long way for such a small turn out. Then, in the distance, the low profile of a dachshund snaking through wet leaves appeared, then another and another, and then I heard someone call my name. It was a fellow priest of the diocese who had brought his wire-haired dachshund Fritz to join the fun. Naturally, inevitably, we fell in with each other, swapping church gossip while Fritz and Daisy scampered with their peers. We compared plans for Christmas - how many carol services have you got? - but then he said thank God we’ve got Advent first. I agreed; Advent is my favourite season of the Church’s year. Me too, he said.
Invidious, if not silly, to have favourites - anyone for Lent? - but even in the most lacklustre of Christians Drop down ye heavens from above summons each year a feeling of anticipation. The sense of something not yet arrived, very Anglican that, is particularly resonant in the Church of England, which offers a feast of Advent music, hymns, readings and customs. There’s Come Thou Long Expected Jesus, Isaiah’s promise of a miraculous birth, the Blue Peter Advent Crown, so complicated to construct it caused the worst row my parents have ever had; and then, of course, the ancient and unfading thrill of opening the Advent Calendar. This year, as an alternative to the Disney tie-in versions, we are publishing our own, to be sent out daily by email, offering you a Thought for the Day - a poem, or reading, or picture, or piece of music - to rouse anticipation while you browse your BlackBerry. A printed version will be made available for the offline.
Fr Richard Coles, Curate.
Weekly Reflection 16th - 22nd November 2009
November 13, 2009
Remembrance (ii)
Normally the lives of Prime Ministers and middle aged mothers of six from Portslade rarely, if ever, intersect. Last week they did, poignantly, and the papers have been full of it ever since. Late one night, from an unsleeping No 10, one of the former wrote a letter to one of the latter, the mother of a twenty year old Grenadier guardsman killed in Afghanistan. It was intended as an expression of condolence, but it failed to provide much comfort for Mrs Jacqui Janes. Mr Bown’s unlovely handwriting - more like footwriting - failed to impress, and his misspelling of her son’s name added insult to injury. She contacted The Sun and within twenty-four hours a faux pas became a debacle. The Prime Minster got wind of the Sun’s story and phoned Mrs Janes to apologise. She taped the phone call. The Sun put it on its website, but if it was intended to make us feel less sympathetic towards Mr Brown for me, at least, it had the opposite effect. Mr Brown the public figure is not always easy to warm to, and his defensive responses to Mrs Janes’ forgivably angry accusations had a touch of the PMQs about them; but I was actually rather impressed that the Prime Minister takes time to write personal notes of condolence to the families of service men and women killed on active service. That this effort looked clumsy I’m sure is a reflection of the sincerity of the writer and the lateness of the hour rather than any complacency about the human cost of war. I certainly find it more impressive than another letter of condolence written by Mr Blair during the invasion of Iraq, which concluded with a peroration justifying his decision to take us to war. In such circumstances, I think I’d prefer breast-beating to tub-thumping.
But on reflection that letter too, better phrased but just as clumsy as Mr Brown’s, suggests that even in the thick of events and within the security-cordoned enclaves of government, those who command our forces falter when confronted with the reality of the loss of sons and fathers and brothers and partners and friends. Mr Blair, so smooth and judicious, and Mr Brown, so cautious and strained, admit as much in their different ways, and so maybe our sympathies might engage not only with the predicament of the casualties and their families, but by the predicament of their commanders also. There’s something about that pasty writing, that clotted prose, those clumsy corrections, that tells us something of the isolation, the anxiety, the sheer weight of responsibility that Mr Brown and others like him have to bear.
Fr Richard Coles, Curate
Weekly Reflection 11th - 17th October 2009
October 9, 2009
I wanna tell you a story…
It is not often Max Bygraves intrudes into my waking thoughts (though his version of Deck of Cards was the soundtrack to many a nightmare). However, lately I keep hearing in my mind’s ear his catchphrase, I wanna tell you a story. It began when I got into a discussion about Christianity’s persistence in our culture and imagination, rooted, someone thought, in the stories the tradition preserves. Even if we don’t go to church, or believe a word of what the preacher preaches, we know the story of the Good Samaritan, the Flood, the Creation, the Nativity, and as long as they are current, something of our culture’s Christian character endures. All religions have their stories, especially those which originated in oral culture, and even in ours, in which Scripture is primary, stories precede texts. The Gospels, for example, preserve material that was in circulation before anything was written down - stories about Jesus and his teachings - and scholars have shown that far from being unreliable, like Chinese Whispers, this material was very carefully passed from person to person and community to community. Perhaps what makes a good story, its power to lodge itself and endure in the memory, individual and collective.
Mindful of this, an Anglican priest in the United States developed a system for teaching children the essentials of the Bible and of the Christian faith through storytelling. It developed into what we today call Godly Play, and it has been so successful both in the US and in the UK that we have resolved to start using it here. Instead of a sermon, children and young people (and it is fascinating to see how compelling adults find it too) gather around a rug on which a storyteller uses a few props and an artfully constructed narrative to tell a story from the Bible. It sounds like nothing special, but when you see it done properly it is extraordinarily effective, capturing the children’s attention in a way sermons or addresses can’t, offering a way into Christian faith that is refreshingly different from the old Sunday School methods that many of us endured when we were young. Our Family Service, at nine on Sunday mornings, has been growing, bringing the next generation of Christians into the Church. We want to do everything we can to encourage their growth and nurture, so today, Sunday October 11th, Godly Play comes to Knightsbridge. We do hope you will come along to the Family Service when you can find out what the story is all about.
Fr Richard Coles, Curate
Weekly Relection 4th-10th October 2009
October 2, 2009
All is safely gathered in…
In spite of a delayed departure from Izmir and a frantic rush through Istanbul Airport to make the connection to London, I can say with pride that I counted all our Parish Pilgrims out and I counted them all in. Actually, in fairness, the Pastoral Assistant did, he having a better head for figures than me, and besides I was too busy queue-jumping in Duty Free to give my undivided attention to the flock (mea culpa). Anyway, we all made it safely back to London, but I wonder how many, like me, unpacked their bags with a slightly deflated feeling. I often get it after being away, not because of post-holiday (or post-pilgrimage) blues, but because of the disappointment I feel when I discover that the souvenirs of my trip, arranged on the dining table, don’t quite measure up to my expectations.
I’ve learned to be more disciplined about this since touring in pop bands, when you would often find yourself in airports with fistfuls of unspent per diems in nine different currencies, and nothing to buy but appalling local delicacies and dolls in national costume. We were once detained by the usually liberal Customs regime at RAF Northolt on our return from - I can’t remember where - who confiscated from our luggage vodka which might very easily have fuelled our flight home, gourmet bonnes-bouches made from endangered species protected in four continents, and decommissioned military hardware.
I try to be more careful souvenir shopping now, but in spite of that, on Sunday night as I pulled from its bubble wrap an Iznik tile I’d bought in Istanbul, I felt that disappointment rise again. It had looked so good in the shade of the Church of the Holy Redeemer, and the Armenian lady (I think she was a lady) who sold it to me was liberal with the apple tea and tireless in negotiation. In the end I rushed it, more anxious to get away than to acquire the tile, and it sits now in the kitchen while I think what to do with it. It is certainly a handsome piece, with peacocks and pomegranates in lovely Iznik blues and reds, but it doesn’t really go with anything else. I was drawn to it because it reminded me of a tile I’d seen in the harem of the Topkapi Palace; but the Curate’s flat is not provided with a harem, and the utility room is hardly its match in glamour. What on earth will I do with it? I can’t really sneak it in with the Harvest Offerings… hang on… Eureka! The Parish Jumble Sale, Saturday October 24th from 9.30 in the Parish Hall, 77 Kinnerton Street (the early bird catches the worm…)
Fr Richard Coles, Curate
Weekly Reflection 20th - 26th September 2009
October 2, 2009
From St Paul’s Second Missionary Journey
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE! Our delightful and tireless guide, Goscen, summons us as insistently as the muezzin calling the Muslim faithful to prayer (although we get an hour longer in bed). And we’re off, through the streets and courtyards and bazaars of Istanbul, a city so cosmpolitan it makes the Eurovision Song Contest look like a Gang Show. The birthplace of Byzantine Christianity is today a sort of picturesque collision of Islamic, Orthodox and Jewish traditions, contained, just, by Ataturk’s secular state. The tensions are obvious in Agia Sofia. Once the greatest church in Christendom, it became a mosque under the Ottomans and a museum under Ataturk. If you look up into its gloomy domes you see Islamic calligraphy sitting alongside Byzantine mosaics, in competitio still for the attention, if not the devotion, of the crowds and crowds of tourists below. What was once the centre of the Christian world lies now beyond its horizon and the spirits of St John Chrysostom and Constantine seem pretty elusive. But, bizarrely, l was browsing in a second hand bookshop near the Pera Palace and found there the 1844 Pickering reprint of Edwards VI’s Prayer Book. Odd to find the first Book of Common Prayer in a city which fell to Sultan Mehmet II a century before Cranmer wrote his first Collect. It probably came from the Anglican church in Istanbul, Christchurch, recently reopened after a fifty-year furlough and thriving when we visited it on Sunday morning (we spotted the historian Norman Stone among the communicants). The sense of stepping into Christian history really began once we’d left the capital for the the towns around Izmir, on the south west coast, where St Paul spent twenty years founding the churches remembered in the New Testament - Smyrna, Ephesus, Laodicea, Pergamon, and so on - some of them today just a pile of rubble in a nondescript town centre, but some of them almost as spectaular in ruins as they were in their golden age. Pergamon, which has stood at the top of a mountain since long before the time of Christ is breathtaking, a city of streets and agoras and forums and theatres and citadels which emerged from the ground when an enterprising German archaeoloist arrived thousands of years after they were built. He sent the best bits to the Pergmaon Museum in Berlin (which does to the Turks what our acquisition of the Elgin Marbles does to the Greeks). Even stripped of so many of its assets, when you walk along its colonnaded street you walk where St Paul walked, and where the Constantine’s emissaries were later to arrive to buy the ‘parchment’ (derived from the city’s name) which was used to make the great 4th century bibles he commissined for the Empire. One of them, Codex Sinaiticus, can be seen today in the British Library, which means a little bit of Pergamon resides in the shadow of St Pancras Station. But I think my favourite place was Laodicea, a street of white marble going nowhere and some marble columns supporting nothing on top of a hill thronged by swallows. After you’ve read the guide and heard the commentary and checked the New Testament references you’re left with nothing but silence and the view and white marble glittering against the deep blue sky.
Fr Richard Coles, Curate
P.S. Any resentment felt by the Turkish nation for the looting of its treasures by western Europe should be assuaged by the amount spent by St Paul’s pilgrims in the leather shop outside Ephesus this afternoon (and Mrs Tytherleigh’s going to just love the bumbag).
Weekly Reflection 13th - 19th September
October 2, 2009
Thanne longen folk…
April is traditionally the time thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages, or at least they did in Chaucer’s day. In this parish September is favoured (my dear, the discount) and this year, like last, a party from St Paul’s will be following the pilgrim trail not to Canterbury but to Asia Minor. We will visit the Seven Churches of the Revelation, whose names you will instantly recall: Ephesus, Smyrna, Pergamum, Thyatira, Sardis, Philadelphia and Laodicea (I’m sure there’s a mnemonic, but I’ve forgotten it). Today these are, rather less romantically, Selçuk, Ýzmir, Akhisar, Sart, Alasehir, Bergama and Denizli; but perhaps this stretch of coast is nowadays best known for Bodrum, a sort of Turkish Blackpool.
In the First Century it was the scene of a very different kind of tourism, as St Paul and his companions pioneered the spread of Christianity around the Mediterranean. Part of the reason why we longen to goon on pilgrimages is indeed to follow in the footsteps of those pioneers; but how often, when we arrive at a site of great antiquity, we feel an obscure sense of anticlimax. This is not simply about finding a bus station occupying the site where Patriarch Anatolius convened the Council of Chalcedon in 459; I think it may also have something to do with the way we ‘do’ history.
I visited Shakespeare’s birthplace last year and would have been quite happy to make my own way round, but instead we were treated to an historical recreation of Stratford towards the end of the sixteenth century. A man, in improbable hose, announced himself as Shakespeare’s father, and delivered a folksy monologue on civics in Renaissance England. Alas, the spell he tried so artfully to weave was frayed somewhat by having The Archers on in the background. I suppose they were trying to make history come alive, but the point of history is that it is not ‘alive’, and while the illusion of escape into it may be diverting for a moment or two, its usefulness lies in its power to makes us think differently about the present.
That stretch of coast where Paul and his companions preached the Gospel is today dominated by a different issue, the tension between the secularism imposed by the Turkish Constitution, and Islam, which has experienced a great revival in those parts. So maybe that’s where our pilgrimage will take us, into a consideration of the conflicting claims of religion and secularism? No less a personage than Tony Blair has described this as the defining issue of our time; the irony is that it was, in a different way, the defining issue of Paul’s time too.
Fr Richard Coles, Curate
Weekly Reflection 6th - 12th September 2009
September 5, 2009
Back to school…
As my lightwell fills with leaves fluttering down from the Vicarage garden, delighting my puppy, a similar feeling of delight spreads through me. Summer is, at last, nearly over. I’ve never liked summer much, especially since ordination has obliged me to sweat it out in unforgiving black. It’s fine on holiday, where shorts and t-shirts and five choices of salad are the order of the day, but in London I just seem to end up parboiling on the tube. Mists and mellow fruitfulness are more my kind of thing; but is not just the botanical and meteorological aspects of autumn that appeal to me. I love the back-to-school feeling too.
As a child I loved Mondays, with the prospect of the week ahead spreading before me, and would practically skip to school (I was a very Fotherington-Thomas sort of child). This feeling was amplified with the approach of autumn and the excitement of a new school year ahead. I started restocking my pencil case in July and I still get a thrill thinking of the dark blue tin of Oxford Mathematical Instruments (‘Complete and Accurate’), not for the possibilities they afforded of divining the mysteries of p, but for the hours of pleasure I would get jabbing classmates in the leg with my dividers.
I would hesitate before setting about parishioners in like fashion, but I still feel an obscure thrill at this time of year. New possibilities, new projects, new people lie ahead. Here at St Paul’s we’re gearing up for Gift Day, and we look back at the past year, look forward to the coming year, and work out how we’re going to support all the things we want to do. I went to see the Director of Finance at one of the most successful churches in the country recently to find out how they organise their funding. A significant part of it comes from gifts, he said. Are your people particularly generous?, I asked. We get one or two six- and seven- figure donations per year, he replied. Please form an orderly queue. Most, however, comes not from one-off donations but from planned giving, from Standing Orders. It is normal for around sixty to seventy per cent of the membership of London churches to have arranged Standing Orders. In this church, I have to report, the figure is around fifteen per cent, in spite of considerable efforts in the past to sign people up. We know it is a tough time for many, and six- or seven-figure donations may be a bit of a stretch, but if you haven’t considered filling out a Standing Order, may we urge you to do so? It enables us to plan more effectively, to get better value from our resources, and deepens the involvement of our people in the life of the parish. More to come on this topic, but do talk to one of the clergy, or a churchwarden, or a member of staff, for further details.
Quite apart from the material benefits there are spiritual benefits too. My former Bishop used to say that nothing pleases God more than the sound of a biro on a Standing Order Form. Biros also are available from the Parish Office.
Fr Richard Coles, Curate.